You Better Lie
by merrybandofmisfits
Summary: Mike Warren knows from the moment he meets her that he can't tell her who he really is - but is he the only one keeping secrets? Mike Warren/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** _I obviously don't own Graceland. _

I don't even know, it's midnight and I'm bored, and this happened. But I think I like it so far, so here goes.

* * *

"You mess this up and I'll break your pretty little neck, got it?"

Marisol nodded quickly.

The twenty-three year old woman was short and skinny with dark brown hair, nearly black, that fell in waves. She had dark brown eyes to match and a Chicago accent she didn't even know she had until she moved to LA.

She pushed the door to the crowded house open and stepped into the thick air outside. It was May, and felt unusually warm to her, but she supposed that was just California. She hadn't been there long, though it felt like an eternity - not all in a good way. In fact, not in a good way at all.

She walked a block down, like they had told her to do before she stopped. The guy was supposed to be there already, but no one was in sight, so she just stood on the curb, balancing there and trying to look as innocent as possible, though she was pretty sure she was failing. She didn't understand why in hell they had her go out and do this in the first place; she obviously wasn't very good.

She had only been standing there for a couple of minutes, however, when the kid they had described came into view. He had dark messy hair and was dressed in baggy jeans and a hoodie even though it was far too warm out - she was dying in her tank top and shorts. His eyes darted back and forth and his hands shook as he pressed the money into the palm of her hand.

"Gracias," he spoke in bad Spanish, and Marisol had to fight not to roll her eyes.

"I speak English." She saved the kid the trouble of further embarrassment.

"Right. Thanks babe."

Marisol just shrugged and pressed the bag into his palm – it was small, but she knew the lump of cash he handed her was not.

She had come to California for a new start, to find a job, just to do _something_. Her parents had practically disowned her when she dropped out of college after two years. Told her she was lazy, that she'd never get anywhere. They were probably right. She'd come for a new start and here she was, selling cocaine to a stranger in the middle of the night on a sidewalk - a fucking_ sidewalk, _not even an alley. Her life was actually pathetic.

The kid walked off, shoving the bag into his pocket and Marisol headed back inside. Richie, Matt, and Damien were all right where they were when she had left, all looking at her expectantly.

"Did he have the money?" Damien questioned. He was the leader of their little group.

"Obviously." Marisol handed him the cash.

"Good."

"My first deal and all I get is a _good?" _Marisol questioned. She was by no means proud, but if she was going to run their stupid errands for them, they had better at least thank her.

"_Puta_ wants credit?" Richie laughed, Matt joining him like the follower he was.

"Aye, chica, you're staying with us out of the kindness of our hearts. We deserve a little in return, don't you think?" Damien smirked and his tone of voice made her glad that all they had her doing was selling drugs.

Finding a job had been way harder than she thought, and the friends she had tried to crash with ignored her calls, leaving her with close to no options. With a duffle bag full of clothes and five hundred dollars, she couldn't really afford to be picky. One night after a couple of failed job interviews, she'd found herself at the bar, trying to drown out her sorrows. She ended up meeting Damien, and after one too many drinks, she'd spilled the whole story to him.

He offered her a place to stay.

_Out of the goodness of his heart._

Right.

If it weren't for him, she probably would have found a job by now. But when you were needed at all hours of the day, it was difficult to go out and find anything real. She'd really fucked herself over this time.

* * *

That was Friday night. Now, it was Tuesday morning. Undoubtedly, it was one of the most uneventful days of the week. Marisol had wandered off and applied to a couple of places. She needed a job, bad. She couldn't stay with her "friends" forever, and she really wanted to get out before something bad happened. Sure, the money she pocketed after the deals the guys sent her out to make was nice (she was even able to reactivate her phone), but she really didn't want to end up in jail.

The beach was nice, even with everything else going on. She was still having a hard time getting used to it. She wasn't used to the ocean. The sparkling blue water was so much prettier somehow than the grayish-green of the lake back home. She could sit in the sand for days. Apparently not, though, as someone ran straight into her from behind – hard. She had been watching a dog, running with something red held in it's mouth and, as per her personality, completely lost track of everything else. Focusing on one thing could do that to her – especially if that something was a puppy.

At first she panicked – it could be Damien or one of the others. They wouldn't exactly like the idea of her out looking for a job. Not after they let her in on their little business.

But it wasn't Damien.

Her dark brown eyes met with a pair of blue ones, wide and apologetic.

"I'm _so _sorry!"

"It's fine." Okay, her shoulder sort of hurt like a bitch now, but she didn't want to make him feel bad.

"The dog, he takes my flip flops. Seriously, that's the second pair!"

Marisol raised her eyebrows in question, the kid was a little awkward, but still smiled.

"No, I'm really fine."

"You sure?" he asked, his eyes still wide.

He looked like a freaking puppy. Even the throbbing pain in her shoulder couldn't make Marisol stay mad at him.

"Completely," Marisol answered. However, another glance at him told her that he didn't believe her, and he seemed like the sensitive type, so she continued. "What about you? I'm bony as hell, sorry."

Her little joke worked, and the man smiled wide, his eyes crinkling slightly. Well, as many lives as she probably ruined in the past week by handing them their drug of choice, at least she could make someone laugh, even if it was at her expense.

"I'm alright," he assured her, mock seriousness and everything. She just smiled.

This was probably the first easygoing conversation she'd had with anyone in a week. Talking to strangers didn't exactly make her nervous. She was fine, really. Outgoing – probably a bit _too much _so. But it helped her out in most situations. She could strike up a conversation with most anyone and make it seem like she'd known them forever. That was what helped her get in with Damien and his friends. Sure, living with them was her own personal hell, but at least it was somewhere to go every night.

Mike didn't even know how to react to the girl. He had literally just barreled into her – partially because he had been too distracted watching that damn dog and partially because, thanks to said dog, he was wearing only one shoe – and she barely even seemed to be upset by it. He wasn't sure if this was just the people he had met recently, but he really didn't think ramming into hot girls on the beach was exactly the best way to go about things.

Yet, here he was, seeming to have an actual conversation with her. Mostly thanks to her. She was talking to him like they had been friends forever. He was just grateful that she hadn't yelled at him. After all the stress he had to deal with on a day-to-day basis, he really wouldn't have liked to deal with this, too. He already felt bad enough. She was tiny and he had hit her pretty hard, there was no way he hadn't hurt her.

"Good," she smiled an easygoing smile, like her face was just made to stay that way, and he smiled back. "I was worried."

Well, that was it, the conversation was basically over… But something kept Mike locked where he was standing. She was pretty – like the kind of pretty that was natural. Her skin was slightly tan and looked soft, and her smile was even better. She was the kind of girl he'd have wanted to hit on in college but never would have, because she seemed too sweet for drunken kisses in strangers beds in random frat houses. He almost smirked at the thought – annoying, really, how his mind still seemed to be stuck back in college sometimes.

"Don't be," he said with a shake of his head, "It's my fault anyway." Her head tilted to the side slightly as she smiled back up at him, seeming to brush off the comment and for some reason, it pushed him to say what he said next. "Lemme make it up to you," he offered, "You want a drink?"

"You might want to get your shoe back first," Marisol pointed out jokingly. Mike looked down at his one bare foot and smiled.

"Lucky for me, he stole the left one last time," he said. He still had the other one in the bag he had slung over his shoulder. It was ridiculous, yeah, but he supposed he had been right in being paranoid that the dog might be back.

She actually laughed out loud at that and Mike couldn't help but laugh with her. Damn, she was charismatic enough to be the President.

He finally got his answer after she caught her breath, "That sounds great… But uh, want to tell me your name first? Mine's Marisol."

Mike froze momentarily, one thought running through his head, Briggs' words from a week before.

"_You meet a girl, a little love 'n touch, you better lie to her." _

He knew what he was doing when he held out his hand for her, but he did it anyway.

"I'm Mike."

And that was about where the truth would end.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Graceland.**

_Well I'm glad people seemed to like the first chapter, so I decided to keep going with this. Enjoy!_

* * *

"So, Mike," Marisol asked as she sipped her drink – screwdriver, keeping it simple – "How often do you use that trick to pick up girls?" She wasn't actually sure if she thought he was or not, though. Honestly her money would be on that he _wasn't _trying, but she was interested to see his reaction.

"It wasn't a plot, I promise," he held his hands up in surrender. His eyes were wide and he had that sort of apologetic look on his face again. Yeah, he definitely hadn't been trying. But he was at the bar with her now – so what did that say? She couldn't complain, though. He was sweet, and she sure as hell would rather be with him than with Damien and the others.

"Fine, I believe you," she said with a smirk, bringing her drink to her lips and draining a bit more at once than she should have. Oh well.

"So... what do you do?" She was curious for many reasons. First, he was dressed way too nice to be just out enjoying a day at the beach. Second, the flip-flops he wore didn't match at all. Someone used to living there would obviously know better. Third, he was pale as hell, though it worked for him.

"Yeah, Gabe's fine!" he answered, taking a swig of his own drink. "I actually just moved here."

"Oh, from where?"

"Boston. I got transferred." Marisol just looked at him curiously. He seemed pretty young to bet getting "transferred." He looked like he was just out of college. Of course, she didn't know much about what happened after graduation, considering she skipped out before she could figure that out.

"Oh. Boston, huh? Don't tell me you're a Bruins fan."

Mike laughed, shrugging. "I might be."

"Then I _might_ have to leave." Marisol laughed, obviously joking. She stopped after a moment, however, still looking at him curiously. He still hadn't really answered her question. "So, you got transferred? Do you work for a company or...?"

"I'm a graphic designer. Well, really I'm an actor, but I got transferred out here for my other job. But I figured it'd be good, you know, because it's a better market."

Marisol smiled – she used to want to go into film, or theatre. But her parents had discouraged her, obviously, and majoring in either hadn't really been an option. Hell, it was nice to see _someone _actually trying to live their dream. "That's really cool," she told him honestly. "Good luck!"

Mike laughed – "Thanks, I'm going to need it." She decided she liked his laugh; it was the kind of laugh that just made you happy when you listened to it. He stopped after a second though, before Marisol had a chance to argue and say that he probably didn't need it. He was attractive and if he got through college he must be good, so what did he really have to lose? "What about you?"

Marisol didn't know how to answer his question, really. She couldn't just say what she was up to the past couple of months. And, well, telling him about all the drama and shit with her family didn't seem like the greatest idea either so she just shrugged.

"Nothing, really. Just moved out here from Chicago. Needed a change, you know?" She hoped he wouldn't question about a job or anything. If he did, she could always lie and say 'coffee shop' or something like that. It'd probably work. What were the chances that he'd try and visit her? Not likely – so it wouldn't matter.

Luckily, though, he didn't ask. "Wow, you just picked up and moved on a whim?"

Marisol nodded, "Yeah, I was just kind of, you know, done… I'm actually thinking about acting or modeling. So I thought here or New York, but I hate winter." The excuse was pretty lame, considering she hadn't done much of either in _years, _but at least it was a better story than "_Well I really couldn't deal with college anymore so I dropped out and so my parents cut me off and I just had to get the fuck out." _She wasn't drunk enough to tell him that story yet.

"I'd never have the guts to do that." His words made her laugh. It wasn't so much that she was brave or anything, more like just reckless – stupid. Only an idiot would just leave without having a job lined up or anything.

"But you left…"

"Oh, yeah, but I mean I guess the company pays me more to be out here, and so either way it's worth it. "I probably would have just stayed in Boston forever if I didn't get transferred out here. Never would have had the courage, if that makes sense."

"No I totally get it. Like you needed an excuse to break out." She knew the feeling well. Because, as much as she couldn't stand her parents, not that it mattered considering they didn't even want to look at her anymore, them not wanting her to stay with them motivated her to leave whether it was a good decision or not.

Sure, sometimes she thought about the nice house they used to have. Nice neighborhood. The kind of house it took a shit ton of money to buy. She thought about the schools her parents sent her to, and the college she was at for a while. University of Chicago. The fucking University of Chicago. She'd been on the Pre-Law track and everything. Like, she could have had _everything _her parents had but she supposed her heart was never really in it. She thought about all of that, and how she was not living in California, barely scraping by and able to keep a roof over her head by selling narcotics to the highest bidder, and it made her sad. But at the same time, she was almost glad for the push, because at least she was out now. She couldn't have spent all of her life as a damn lawyer.

Mike was not doing the best job of lying. It shouldn't be this damn hard. He'd been lying every day. But for some reason this was so much different. Marisol was just a girl he met – and he couldn't even tell her the truth about anything. He obviously couldn't tell her about his job. It was weird. It was like anyone he met, he was going to have to make up ridiculous stories like the one he was spinning now. And now that he had started, this was probably the story he was going to have to stick with. Unless of course he wanted to risk getting stories confused.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said with a shrug. "I mean it's good. Kinda sucked to have to leave all my friends but it's better now."

Marisol smiled at his comment, for some reason, and once again he couldn't help but smile back. It was cute and sexy at the same time, if that made any sense. Shit – what was he doing? He didn't have time for this, but here he was.

"To new beginnings," Marisol held up her glass, looking at him expectantly. He smirked and clinked his glass with hers.

"To new beginnings."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Still don't own it. **

_I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!_

* * *

Two hours and too many drinks later, the two were finally getting ready to leave the bar. Marisol didn't seem to want to, as each time Mike tried to get up, she would grab hold of his arm and pull him back. He would groan and pretend like she was forcing him to stay, but truthfully, it wasn't taking much convincing at all.

"'Comon, Mike," she urged him as he finally attempted to actually leave, grabbing her arm and pulling her up with him. He was slightly drunk, but not too much. Her skin was soft beneath his fingers and all he could think about was how he wanted to see how it felt on his lips. _Shit._

"It's still early, let's have fun!" She was gripping his sleeve now, smiling mischievously, and all Mike could do was smile and let it happen, moving closer to her ever so slightly.

"Marisol," he said, somehow the Spanish name rolled off his tongue despite the large amount of alcohol he had consumed, "It's almost midnight." Okay, that wasn't late at all. But he could never tell what ungodly hour he might be woken up at, so he knew it wasn't the best idea to stay out – he had work to do after all, which was more important.

_Only a guy who scored a 1700 on his Practicals would put work ahead of a girl._

It was like Johnny's voice was programmed into his head now, at least at moments like this. Really though, that was exactly what he would say if he were there now. He was at a bar with a girl who he thought was plenty attractive, and even pleasant to be around with a cute smile and an even cuter laugh, and she was practically begging him to stay, and there he was making excuses to leave.

"What, are mom and dad expecting you back home?" she asked with a smirk. She was so close he could smell her perfume, or lotion, or whatever it was that made him want to bury his face in her neck. _Fucking alcohol._

"No?" she asked, apparently having waited long enough for the answer that he didn't give. She smiled again and it was like he couldn't resist – his heart was pounding as hard as it did when he was stuck in the car with those Russians. "Then come on!"

And suddenly they were dancing. The music seemed to be getting louder in his ears; the lights seemed to be getting dimmer – on everything except her face. It was still bright as it was when he ran into her hours ago. His hands found her waist, holding her against him. She was so soft under his fingers he just wanted to hold her there forever.

Then suddenly they weren't dancing anymore. How long had they been dancing, anyway? How did he get so sweaty? Her too. Suddenly she was facing him again and his arms were around her and his hand was on the side of her face and his lips were on hers.

* * *

Marisol melted into the kiss, her lips moving against his softly. The kiss felt so perfect. It was soft and gentle, despite the beat of the music pounding in her ears. It was comforting just to feel his arms around her. When was the last time someone had held her? One hand rested on his chest and she could feel his heart pounding under her fingertips.

Her eyes finally opened as she pulled away, her eyes still fixed on his. A smile spread on her lips as she stared up at him. Her heart was thundering in her chest, and she didn't know what to make of all of the emotions she felt. She didn't believe in things like this - 'love at first sight' and all that bullshit. But she _did_ know that she didn't want to stop here. She wanted to kiss him again, she wanted to hold him, she wanted _him._

She just stared at him for a moment. Despite the fact that thousands of words were running through her head, she just didn't know how to put them together. Lucky for her, Mike spoke before she had a chance to trip over her words.

"That wasn't romantic at all, I'm sorry..." His little sideways smile was so perfect she couldn't help but smile back. His sense of humor just put her at ease.

"That's okay, we can do dinner another time. I'm sure you'll remember the flowers," she said with a smile to match his. Her grip on him tightened and he seemed to respond by tightening his as well.

"You mean it?"

Marisol nodded, "I- " she hadn't even thought about it before she said it, but she was glad she had. "Yeah. Yeah I do."

* * *

Mike just couldn't get the grin off of his face. He knew once the alcohol was out of his system, he might regret this. He couldn't drag her into his life, and he definitely couldn't have anything serious with her. But he couldn't just drop her. Well... he _could_, he barely knew her. But he sure as hell didn't want to. He didn't want to think about that now, though, so he pulled her in for another kiss, this one just as soft as the first. There was a sense of innocence between the two.

"C'mon," he said finally as he pulled away, his fingers lacing with hers. "Let's go outside." The stuffy, loud air in the club was starting to clash with the mood. The salty warm air outside seemed much more fitting. So he led her out of the club, weaving through the mass of drunks as best as he could, being slightly tipsy himself.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Graceland._

AN: Okay, it has been way too long, but I want to continue with this story. Hopefully some of you are still interested! Either way, here goes...

* * *

The night air was cool - it felt fresh, clean. Mike felt as if he didn't have to think about the mess that his life currently was, and would remain. That was his profession, after all. He sat under the pier, leaning up against a pole, legs stretched out in front of him. Marisol laid with her head in his lap. Cautiously, Mike ran his fingers through her hair - it was soft and he couldn't help it.

All of this - it was too much. He shouldn't be getting close to someone he just met. He shouldn't be getting close to someone at all. He had to lie to her, straight up lie.

The two of them sat in a sort of comfortable silence, both clearly wrapped up in thoughts - or lack thereof. She probably thought he was just drunk, and that was all the better. He could feel the rise and fall of Marisol's chest against him and he smiled. Everything else was so crazy but this... This was nice. The two of them were relaxed, just enjoying the moment.

His fingers continued to brush through her hair and he sighed, finally opening his mouth to speak.

"So... Do you like it here?"

He didn't know what else to ask, so he just thought he would stick with that. His eyes fixed momentarily on the water, watching the waves crash.

"Yeah... Yeah I do." There seemed to be some hesitation in her voice, but Mike brushed it off. Already, his work with the FBI had caused him to doubt every little thing anyone said.

"I do, too. Especially now." He looked down at Marisol after that one, checking for her reaction. Her eyes were closed but her lips were curved into a smile.

"Yeah... Now is perfect..." Her voice was clouded, like she was falling asleep. He didn't press her to talk more, because maybe that was better anyways. If they didn't talk, he couldn't say anything stupid. He knew what alcohol and speaking could do. So he just brushed her hair away from her neck, caressing it with his thumb. She sighed and he took that as approval, so he let his hands wander over her back, massaging gently.

As his fingers moved over her shoulder blades, he was caught off guard when she flinched slightly, half sleeping. He pretended not to notice, eyes squinting in the dark, he gently nudged her shirt down just far enough to see part of a bruise standing out harsh and dark against her slightly tanned skin. He knew a bruise like that could be caused by being slammed into something, but for it to be that dark it would have to have been incredibly hard.

He frowned, it wasn't any of his business. He had just met her. He knew almost nothing about her. For all he knew it could have been an accident, she could have fallen... But with all of the criminals he had been dealing with, he expected the worst and it made him feel sick. Did someone do this to her? And _why__?_

After a moment, he pushed her shirt back up to where it belonged, realizing then that she was sleeping in his arms. Alcohol could do that... It was getting late. He should probably get her home. He wasn't going to ask. But he did intend to see her again, and he'd keep an eye out.

"Tired?" he checked after a moment, nudging her gently to wake her up. "Do you want to go home?"

She tilted her head up towards him, eyes blinking open slowly before they widened, just briefly.

* * *

_Shit. _She had fallen asleep - she didn't know for how long. But the sky was still dark, and they were still on the beach so it could not have been for too long. Everything was fine. She came home late often. Damien wouldn't be angry... After a moment of panic, her expression returned to normal. She hoped the transition was fast enough that Mike hadn't caught on.

"Yeah... I guess."

She was so comfortable right where she was that she didn't want to get up at all, but she pushed herself up anyways. She wanted to stay. She could see that look in his eye that told her he wanted the same thing, but she had no choice.

"I'd love to stay but... Work in the morning." She frowned and shrugged, hoping that he wouldn't ask any questions.

"Hey, it's fine. We'll have dinner soon, okay?"

Marisol smiled and nodded, looking forward to it already. He was an escape from her life, and a great one. The fact that she was lying to him and wasn't going to be able to stop any time soon nagged at the back of her mind, but she already knew there was no way she could bring herself to pass on the opportunity to see him again.

"C'mon, let's get you home..." He stood up, holding out his hands for her to take.

She smiled to herself before reaching up and taking his hands to pull herself up, pressing her lips up against his once she was standing. The alcohol was definitely still in her system, but the moment was crystal clear and perfect.


End file.
